Murder on the Dancefloor
by Lil Miss Giggles
Summary: Buffy has rejected Spike. He leaves Sunnydale wanting revenge.


Murder on the Dancefloor  
  
Chapter One: Jenni  
  
Rating: PG13  
Ownership: Joss Whedon owns all original characters of B:tVs.  
Distribution: Like, take, have - ask first.  
Feedback: Much appreciated. Flames met with hysterical laughter.  
A/N: In this AU, Drusilla never fell out of love with Spike, she just ran away when Angelus turned back. Spike, however, still fell in love with Buffy who is back with Angel.  
  
  
"You are beneath me." The sentence was drawn out, each word emphasized and he watched her lips form the words as their meaning hit home. Waves of worthlessness found their way from his mind to his feet and he staggered backwards in despair while she looked on. Lifting his eyes, he searched her face for any signs of affection. He found none. He stood properly, straightening his back and looked her directly in the eyes, the full impact of the words recently exchanged hitting him like a thunder-bolt. "Go home. I don't want to see you here again." The vampire opened his mouth to protest but his voice stuck fast in his throat and no sound was made except the scuffs made by the heels of his boots as they scraped the floor in retreat. Turning away, the Slayer stared at her feet as they took her home to her sanctuary. He looked up as she left, his heart pleading with her to rethink her decision, "Buffy..." His voice was no more than a cracked whisper, impossible to hear over the soft rustle of the leaves as the wind carried itself through them. Swallowing hard Spike slowly turned, forcing his legs to carry him home as his heart broke, never again to heal.  
The vampire lifted his head, catching her scent on the breeze and hot tears scorched his face. He hung his head, ashamed that he ever believed that a creature as exquisite as the Slayer could ever find it in her heart to love him. Leaning against the gate-post, he sat on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest in a foetal position. He would stay here. Stay till the sun seared his skin and took his pain away. He had no reason to remain in existance, the sooner he ended it the easier it would be. She would forget him. He would just be another vampire who's "life" ended in Sunnydale. He wished he could hate her. He wished his passion for death was as strong as it had been when he first came to California. But the woman who fueled this passion had long gone. Drusilla. She fled the moment she learnt her Sire had a soul again. Staring into the night, Spike found himself wishing he could love Dru and not Buffy - but it was not to be. His love for his Sire faded as that for the Slayer grew. He climbed back to his feet, gazing at the spot where the blonde girl had stood only minutes before. It was over. He would forget. He would forget everything, even his intentions of suicide. Random thoughts found their paths through the demon's mind, all emotions leaving as they made way for decisions that needed to be made.  
Standing in the alley behind Willy's Place, the blonde vampire ran his hand lovingly over the bonnet of his car. The DeSoto. He climbed in, closing his eyes as the sweet scent of Dru's perfume haunted him. It lingered still, hanging in the air like the smoke from his cigarette. Noticing the evident lack of keys, he hot-wired the vehicle, smiling as the engine revved and he reversed out of the alley.  
  
"Now leaving Sunnydale - Please come again." Accelerating, he shook his head, watching the rising sun with growing unease. He kept his hands moving across the wheel, aware that if he kept them still, the increasing intensity of the light would burn his skin. He would leave America altogether. Go to Spain. Dru had always loved the bulls, it would never be the same as the last time but he would try. Maybe he would find her there. Parking on the pier, he climbed into the back of the car and moved into the gap behind the front seats, away from the sun. He closed his eyes and mind from the world around him and slipped into unconsciousness as people walked round the car, rushing to finish jobs like there was no tomorrow.  
  
Dusk came, and Spike awoke, hungry and restless. Lifting his eyes to the window, he peered through the gaps of missing black paint to see the last rays of sun spread across the sky in blood-red streaks. Shifting back into the front driver's seat he opened the door and climbed out, looking at the car for a moment, he was almost reluctant to leave it. It held memories. Some he'd rather leave behind, others he'd rather stay close to, lest he forget. Standing beside the hood for a moment he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the fading sun sting his skin. He ran his hand over the roof of the car, then turned towards the approaching truck.  
  
"Hey, y'know you're real pale. Maybe you should go see a doctor." The girl's hands crossed over the steering wheel as Spike glanced over as her. He shrugged, "Natural complexion." She drummed her thumbs on the wheel in time to the music playing on the radio and her knee rose and fell as she tapped her foot. She sighed and looked at him through the rear-view mirror, "What you running from?" That caught him off-guard. Was it that obvious he feared what he'd left behind? He cast his eyes over the dash-board, noting the amount of beer bottles and soda cans scattered around. She repeated the question and he looked up into the mirror to meet her gaze, "Love." His answer was simple and true. A word of one syllable that could be defined in many ways. But the love he spoke of was true. Breaking eye contact with the blonde man, the girl switched radio stations and reached for another beer. "Should you be drinking that much while you're driving?" She paused just as the bottle reached her lips, "No, I guess not. Wouldn't wanna crash now, would we?" She handed him the beer and he accepted, welcoming the soothing effect of the alcohol, yet annoyed by it's lack of taste. Nothing tasted the same. After over a century of drinking blood, he'd grown accustomed to the bland human food. But now and then he missed the richness of the gravy at Sunday Lunch and the wine at family gatherings. The food was the only thing he missed from his life as a human. The rest was hell. William the bloody. Given that name for his bloody awful poetry. How he had hated those who jeered at him. It shouldn't have mattered that the poetry was badly written. What he wrote had always come from the heart. It was the meaning behind the poetry that counted. Or so he thought. "So... this girl... or guy... y'know I don't mind if it was a guy, I'm open-minded, I'm not bothered if you're gay or bi or--" Spike smiled wearily, "She. Buffy. But she didn't love me. I would've done anything for her. That didn't matter though." His expression changed from affection to contempt as he uttered the rest of his comment, "I'm beneath her." The girl in the driver's seat fell silent, occasionally glancing back at the mirror at him. He clenched his teeth. //"You are beneath me."// The very same words had slipped from Cecily's lips when she rejected him. Once again he felt the familiar stinging as tears worked their way down his face. Burying his face in his hands, Spike closed his eyes and cast his mind back to the week he had first arrived in Sunnydale. He had scared the Slayer. He could've killed her. He should have killed her. Right there and then. But no, he had to make an entrance. Declare the time and day. Stupid. Stupidstupidstupid. "Hey... you want me to stop at the next gas-station? We're outta beer and I'm thinkin' you're in need of a coffee." The vampire smiled weakly and nodded. He felt the girl's hand squeeze his shoulder, a gesture of concern he had never been able to master. "Thanks."  
  
The car came to a slow halt beside the gas-pumps and Spike accompanied the girl into the crowded cafe at the back. Each armed with a mug of coffee and a burger, they sat in the corner and stared at the table-top in silence. The wind chimes jingled as people came and went and finally Spike looked up, "You never told me your name." Her eyes met his and for a moment there was a hint of the warm smile she had shown when they first met, "Jenni. But most just call me Jen." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply with his own name. "I'm ... Angel." 


End file.
